


At First Sight

by snazzelle



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl doesn't understand signals, I know nothing, M/M, Model!Daryl, Paul is so frustrated, photographer!jesus, photographer/model au, talent scouting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 09:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10461030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzelle/pseuds/snazzelle
Summary: Truth be told, even Paul wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but the moment he laid his eyes on him, he just knew that that was the face he needed to photograph.Carol tilted her head with a sigh, her arms crossing before her chest in poorly veiled exasperation. “Where exactly do you see yourself going with him?”“Everywhere.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've held onto this for a while.  
> Mood has been up a down a lot recently, but I hope writing and posting will fix that lol
> 
> Thank you for reading and for any comments that you are willing to give c:

 

2P.M. on a Friday, Paul stepped out onto the busy sidewalks of Atlanta. Today was easily one of the colder days of the season, immediately feeling refreshed as the icy wind nipped at hischeeks and brushed a few strays completely out of the knot at the top of his head. He kept a black folder close to his chest, flush against the breast of his coat as he matched the pace of other pedestrians moving his way. 

 

He stifled a yawn into his fist. The all-nighter he pulled seemed more and more like a bad idea, but it had been hard to tear himself away from his laptop. He could feel the throbbing in his eye sockets, most likely from the abuse of a to-full-brightness screen for sixteen straight hours, the sunglasses that sat across the bridge of his nose hiding the way he can’t help squinting and blinking back the tired wetness that filmed over his eyes. If he hadn’t promised to meet Carol in the next fifteen minutes, he probably would still be swathed under two different comforters, unwilling to move, and feeling his recently fleeting motivation slowly slipping out from between his fingers. 

 

_Its not your fault,_ Carol had said. _Everyone loses their inspiration every once in a while._

 

Well, Carol might be right about that and the general public. Paul had not _once_ been so… lacking. Not once as that pimply, short kid with his dad’s Polaroid, and definitely not _ever_ since he had decided to make photography his career choice. Designers from New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and hell, even as far as Tokyo and Spain, had sought after his services, so Paul was no stranger to the biggest creative minds releasing their reigns and letting him cultivate his vision in a picture. With all the locations he’s visited, it was a wonder why Paul even wanted to return to his third floor flat right on the skirts of downtown Atlanta (it was just as he’d left almost ten years ago) when he could be lying on the beaches of Mexico.

 

Atlanta was home though.

 

It was familiar, anyway. With the unrest that’s been going on in his head, familiar just sounded so welcoming at the time.

 

What was awesome was that Carol was here too. She had a few years on him, but never once did she tell him her age. Didn’t matter. It seemed the woman was as timeless as the glossy pages of a magazine. Even with her busy schedule, she managed to make some time for him. He’s sure she’s down here at Atlanta to do more than just visit.

 

As far as Paul knew, Carol had moved with her daughter North to Washington D.C. for the change of scenery. Last he heard, she’s been successfully scouting new talent for both acting and modeling agencies, so it had Paul wondering why she decided to come down here too. Fate, possibly.

 

Either way, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the face when he was presented with one. He hasn’t seen Carol in, what, five years? 

 

He pushed the door open and was welcomed into the toasty warmth of a quiet sports bar. He hoped he’d been early, but he could already see the sharp lines of the older woman sitting in a two seater booth, two beers in front of her, legs crossed, and elbow on the table top. She had let her hair grow out since the last time he’d seen her, the silver-streaked strands wild with half aborted short curls that frame her high cheekbones and showed off that pointed chin. 

 

Paul pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and put his folder down in front of him. “Before you say anything, I am not late.”

 

She laughed as he slid out of his coat and hung it on the easy to miss hook nailed into the booth. 

 

“I don’t know… I’m pretty sure I said 2:30.” She tapped her wristwatch. Paul took a seat while trying his best not to let his his gaze drift over to the clock hanging up in the wall. 

 

Too late. 

 

2:33 P.M.

  
Paul feigned disbelief, eyes wide. Carol simply smiled and pushed over the second beer with a fingertip. 

 

“What’s a few minutes, right?” Carol teased.

 

It was Paul’s turn to grin and tease back, “I’m sorry. You know I hate to keep you waiting.” 

 

“Made use of my time, didn’t I? Saved us a seat in this busy establishment.” The place was empty, other than for a couple at the bar who were sharing a laugh while a game played on the flat screen TV against the wall. Christ, but this woman knew how to weave sarcasm so sweetly into conversation it was hard not to react. Paul nearly snorted his drink. “I landed at one last night, so I know I didn’t send that text inviting you to lunch at a reasonable time. What were you doing up at two? I had an excuse.”  


Paul wiped the splash of beer off the tip of his nose with the heel of his palm and gave the woman a shrug. “Work. You know how it is.”

 

Carol raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Work. Work gets an annoyed groan here or there. Work is frazzled hair and an outfit mishap or two after eight hours. Work shouldn’t make you look like Meeko’s long lost cousin.”

 

Paul really tried to scowl but ended up grinning and shaking his head into his hand. Out of habit, he tried to run his fingers through his hair and nearly lost his sunglasses in the process, the pair tumbling down his arm and making Paul sigh, having given up for just a moment. He knew he looked a mess. “This isn’t a one day look. That, I can tell you.” Carol said ‘ _spill’_ without even opening her mouth. “You know what depression feels like?”

 

And that was stupid of him to say. Paul wished he could take it back. Carol simply rolled her eyes and scoffed. The woman had been in a terrible marriage and Paul remembered how bad it had been. Having been one of the few people she could go to for support, Paul should of known better and they both knew it. Before he could apologize, she waved it off and and nodded for him to continue.

 

“I can’t work. I want to. I can’t. It feels like a cycle I can’t get out of and its driving me nuts.” He opened his folder. He had nearly forgotten it on his way out the door and had held onto it like his very soul was between the pages on his walk here, but when he looked at the photographs he can’t help but to feel a sudden crushing feeling of underwhelm. 

 

Carol took the folder and spun it around. “They’re good.”  
  
“I hate them.”

 

“Jesus,” the nickname forced a small crooked smile on Paul’s lips, “they’re very pretty. The models are beautiful. The composition is perfect. The colors…” She turned page after page, her head shaking side to side minutely as she tries to understand. Paul doesn’t even think she knew she was doing it. “What’s wrong with them?”  


Paul view moved from the grain of the wood top back to the pictures protected by a plastic cover. They were printed at home with his old printer, but it still gave him some optimal work on firm glossed paper. He didn’t need Carol to turn the folder back around for him to change his mind, because he knew he wouldn’t. He’d looked at each picture at every damn angle hoping to feel… something.

 

The models _were_ pretty, and they weren’t amateur or newly signed models either. Eric Raleigh had been in high fashion through his late teens to his early thirties and Rosita Espinosa was a familiar face that now graced both the television screen and magazine covers. They were talented and gorgeous and any photographer’s sweet dreams, and Paul had been lucky enough to befriend them because he doubted they’d of done any of these photos for fun, let alone free, for anyone who they weren’t close to. 

 

In the end, they had known that the pictures wouldn’t be used anywhere other than what they wanted to do with them in private. Both Eric and Rosita had been empathetic ears and had donated their time to help him find some inspiration. And though, yeah, the pictures were good enough, they did not fill the void in Paul’s head that used to be the endless noise and color of his creativity. 

 

A waiter came by their booth with a plate of greasy burgers and fries in both hands, startling Paul out of his reverie to grab his folder before it became a placemat for Carol’s food. He couldn’t meet the waiter’s eyes, mouthing a quiet thanks as food he’s pretty sure he hadn’t ordered himself was put in front of him. Carol winked when he looked up. She still remembered the drill.

 

“Anyway, these…” Paul shook the folder beside himself before shoving it in the space between his back and the backrest, “are just doing nothing for me. Rosita and Eric are fantastic models, but haven’t I done this before? Pretty face after pretty face…” Carol handed him the ketchup before he start searching for it (he’s a mess here, he could take some help right now) and Paul squirted a good dollop of it next to his fries. He’s seen so many doe eyed, dewy faced beauties that they’re starting to look like clones of each other. Maybe he should try something new. Maybe he should apply for National Geographic or something, get out for a bit, get lost in the wilderness of… Malaysia or something.

 

“I know that look on your face,” Carol interrupted, eyes narrow. “And don’t you dare do it.”  
  
“You’re not the boss of me.”

 

“You will love it for a month. Half a year, maybe, if you could stand it. But you’re going to miss taking pictures of people and capturing them in their moment. Don’t tell me you don’t _love_ that.”

 

“But, Carol. There is no _moment_ to be caught. Its all staged. Its all perfectly calculated, heads tilted just so, angles made just right, the lighting, the clothes, the hair… fuck, the fucking hair.” So many disasters. So many fucking disasters that he just never seemed to realize until just now. He just wasn’t all that hungry when he had so much going on in his head and talked while Carol took a big bite out of her burger. “I’m doing a shoot for a clothing line in the middle of nowhere Georgia in a week and what the hell am I going to give them?”

 

He had to wait for her to chew and wipe her lips with a napkin. “You give them your very best.” Was all she said. Paul sighed loudly and resisted the urge to kick her shin. They weren’t barefoot. It would be too rude, even as friends.

 

“Look,” she starts again when Paul started worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “How about a new face? Who’s in charge? I’ve got some young and eager new models who are looking for their shot. With your name backing them, they could stand for a bit of help. I’m sure their wonder will translate just right for the camera.” 

 

“I don’t want _young.”_ Paul huffed and slumped. 

 

Carol pointedly shifted her eyes from Paul’s to the plate and back which prompted the man to start putting fries in his face. “Give me an age range, you know I have contact with all kinds of people. If you’d just give me some criteria to work with…” 

 

But he didn’t _know._ He didn’t know very much about that shoot other than what kind of clothing that brand sold and where it was going to be at. He didn’t want young, or fresh, or shiny when there were thousands of those faces in the industry and printed on every surface. The anxiety was going to crush him at this point. No one had told him that his reputation would end up being the source of all his stress.

 

The pressure. Paul started to fluster and abruptly he got up, “Uh, I need to use the bathroom.”

 

Carol must of noticed. Her tone softened and she reached over to hold his arm gently. “Right, take your time,” she said and Paul nodded.

 

Paul burst through the swinging door and paced before stopping before the sink, taking a deep breath in and out. A week wasn’t a long time at all for him to get his shit together, but he couldn’t very well cancel. He took a glance up and winced at what he saw, taking a moment to let his hair down and comb his fingers through the tangled strands, wishing he could snap his fingers and have slept the eight hours he needed to get rid of the sleep-deprived circles under his eyes. He had both arms up over his head to tie his hair back up when the door swung open, and startled, Paul chanced a glance and nodded, only to do a double take as the other grunted and took up a urinal stall. 

 

It was an unspoken rule. When a man’s gotta piss, you keep your eyes anywhere but on him. Paul was stuck on him like glue, staring at him through the mirror. He needed to see his face for a while longer, but what he could see made his mind race. Broad muscled back, strong arms, a tiny little waist and ass, those long legs.. and when he turned around—

 

Paul caught a second of those translucent blues and nearly broke the knob off of the sink turning it on to wash his hands for no other reason than to seem like he had a reason to still be in there.

 

His tired eyes were getting a work out over here. Paul looked at the man’s reflection and looked away, then looked back when he saw that the other man hadn’t taken lifted his head at all and was too busy washing his hands to really notice Paul. In that moment, he knew he had to learn the stranger’s name.

 

The other dried his hands and exited the bathroom, and Paul, like an idiot, was left still washing his hands and watched him go. Quickly drying his own hands, he tried to walk as calmly as possible back to Carol.

 

That man had stopped and sat with the two people at the bar. Must be friends.

 

Carol looked at him with concern. He simply pointed with his stare, mouthed ‘him’.

 

She tilted her head with a sigh, her arms crossing before her chest in poorly veiled exasperation and disbelief. “Where exactly do you see yourself going with _him?”_

 

She must not have seen what Paul saw in him. Paul saw something unique in those few minutes just sharing space with the other man and had felt that spark. That feeling of dread was changed with excitement, his tired orbs bright and blurred with ideas as muse took to pedestal. This is the feeling he’d been missing.

 

_“_ Everywhere.”


End file.
